


The non-fiction of you and me

by oviparous



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28291143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oviparous/pseuds/oviparous
Summary: When a retired actor (turned best-selling queer fiction author) brings in his car to the dealership for a routine inspection, he makes the strangest proposal to the mechanic serving him: "Be my fake boyfriend."for Rin, to whom I promised I would dedicate a fic this Christmas
Relationships: Aiba Masaki/Ninomiya Kazunari
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	1. UnBidden

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be part of an anthology of six fics I started way, way back (maybe even before the hiatus was announced?). I wrote 4 stories, lost steam, started writing again in November, and have now decided to publish this one as a standalone. So glad it's getting to see the light of day.

Aiba can’t help doing a double-take when he sees who’s waiting for him in the showroom. He’d read the name off his chart and chalked it up to coincidence, but this is actually _the_ Ninomiya Kazunari.

“Shuri,” Aiba turns to his colleague manning the service counter, “that’s Ninomiya Kazunari.”

“Who?”

“You know, he used to be an actor? ‘Rainbow’, ‘Merry Christmas’…?”

Shuri shakes her head. Aiba suddenly remembers she’s 22 and was probably in kindergarten when those dramas aired.

“He quit acting to become a novelist,” explains Aiba. “Ever heard of ‘UB’?”

Shuri’s eyes widen. “No way, he wrote that?”

Aiba nods. He knew Shuri would recognise that one. It was made into a movie last year and captured tons of teenaged hearts.

“So he’s an ex-actor, award-winning BL romance author, and, from the way he’s swiping furiously on his phone, mobile game extraordinaire,” comments Shuri. “His vibe’s kinda loser-ish, huh?”

“I’m taking offence. He’s a legit star.”

“Of your time,” teases Shuri.

Aiba rolls his eyes and points his clipboard in the direction of Ninomiya. “I’m going to talk to him about his car.”

“Ask him if he wants another coffee, please. He’s been waiting for over thirty minutes.”

“Sure.”

The car dealer Aiba works for is in Daikanyama, posh enough an area to attract TV celebrities and the social elite. The employees have all been trained to service such clients—they must maintain good humour, pleasant manners, and keep banter to a minimum—but Aiba’s still new to the branch and it’s his first time meeting someone he actually recognises.

Aiba puts on his friendliest smile and walks up to Ninomiya. He bows. Ninomiya pauses his game and puts away his phone.

“Hello. I’m Aiba,” Aiba pauses to show his name, embroidered over the left breast pocket of his overalls, “and I’m the mechanic servicing your car.”

Ninomiya bows as well. “Please take care of me.”

Aiba returns the bow, then rounds the table to sit across from Ninomiya. “These are the results of the inspection,” says Aiba, placing the clipboard between them. There’s a chart on it that depicts the different segments of the car with Aiba’s notes in blue, and with this chart Aiba starts walking Ninomiya through the maintenance works that the car needs. Ninomiya’s treated the Lexus pretty well, but there’s some rust on the underside of it that Aiba suggests Ninomiya lets him take care of. Ninomiya asks for the price before agreeing reluctantly, and signs up for that option. Aiba picks up on Ninomiya’s scorn and makes sure to be extra apologetic as he runs through the rest of the add-ons, knowing it’s always wiser to have the customer feel the dealership’s empathy, that they too are fully aware of how exorbitant the biannual inspection can seem.

When Aiba is done and Ninomiya has signed off on the document, he picks up his clipboard and asks if Ninomiya needs another coffee. Ninomiya says no, so Aiba readies a smile and bows, about to take his leave.

He raises his head to find Ninomiya leaning across the table to look at him, chin balanced on crooked wrist, holding Aiba in critical scrutiny. Aiba wonders if he’s said anything wrong.

“How much do you make as a mechanic, Aiba-san?”

Aiba freezes, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

“How much do you earn as a mechanic?” asks Ninomiya, rephrasing.

“I, um—my last paycheque was two hundred and fifty-eight thousand yen.” Aiba goes for the truth, too surprised to approximate.

“And how many hours do you work a day?”

“About ten?”

Ninomiya pauses, likely doing the math. “Are you allowed to moonlight?” Ninomiya’s voice drops to a murmur.

“Technically, no.”

“What if I offer you a short-term job that pays fifty thousand an hour?”

Aiba is so baffled he doesn’t know how to respond. This Ninomiya guy is kind of weird. But Aiba is curious because of the money. Some extra cash would really help: his dad’s still in physiotherapy from the car accident and can’t go back to work; the temporary chef at his restaurant costs a lot to hire. If Ninomiya’s offering this much…

“How short is ‘short-term’?” asks Aiba.

Ninomiya’s eyes flick upward in thought. “Five hours should suffice.”

Aiba’s jaw goes slack. It’s a great deal. Aiba swallows.

“Why me?”

Ninomiya shrugs. “I’ve met you and I like you. That’s important. It’s a very special project.”

Aiba’s quite ready to say yes, but he needs to know what this project is about first. “What’s the job?”

Ninomiya’s lips quirk into a devilish smile.

“Be my fake boyfriend.”

***

Two days later, when Ninomiya comes back to the dealership to pick up his partly-refurbished car, he sneaks Aiba an old flip phone.

“I’ll be in touch.” Ninomiya winks, and drives off.

A part of Aiba feels that he’s pimping himself out, but Ninomiya was clear: this is an experiment for Ninomiya’s new, unwritten story, and Aiba has given consent to their experiences together being documented, though his real name will not be used; there will be no intimacy involved; Aiba is allowed to negotiate or reject any proposition that he’s uncomfortable with; and he may withhold any personal information he does not wish to reveal.

Aiba takes a deep breath. He’s got this.


	2. UnBelievable

Their first session takes place at an Italian restaurant not too far from the dealership. It’s decorated with floral tendrils and swinging chandeliers, a faux brick wall behind the bar with the daily specials written on a blackboard in chalk. Their clientele is noisy, overwhelmingly female and a handful of them, judging by the way they’ve gasped and gotten their friends to look, recognise Ninomiya. Aiba feels terribly self-conscious.

“Why did you choose this place?” asks Aiba quietly, when they’re seated.

“It wasn’t me, it was my agent,” says Ninomiya, looking grouchily around. “This isn’t my kind of place.”

“We could go somewhere else,” says Aiba, relieved he isn’t the only one feeling awkward. "I know a place, it's not far from here."

Ninomiya looks tempted, then slumps and sighs. “No, I need to do this.”

Aiba is curious, but he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask.

The evening wears on. It’s not a disastrous date—it just doesn’t feel like one. Ninomiya tries to make small talk, and Aiba tries his best to converse, but the table beside them hosts a couple in their 40s who aren’t very subtle in trying to take Ninomiya’s picture. Ninomiya does his best to not pay them any attention, but Aiba feels sorry for him anyway. The Ninomiya that Aiba remembers in the dealership is a vastly different person from this one. There isn’t an ounce of cheekiness in him tonight.

When the hour is up and the bill is paid, Ninomiya offers to send Aiba home. Aiba considers this for a few moments, then motions for Ninomiya to come with him.

Aiba exits the restaurant and is greeted by the cool May night. “Ninomiya-san…” he starts, before realising Ninomiya is not with him. He’s been stopped at the door by one of the servers, who wants to shake his hand. Ninomiya obliges, keeps bowing, smiles and waves.

Aiba waits on the front step. When Ninomiya joins him, Aiba takes his hand. Ninomiya looks at him, startled.

“Let's not count that hour,” says Aiba, voice firm.

Five minutes later they’re pushing open the door to an empty bar. Ninomiya says he hasn’t been here before. Aiba waves to the head bartender, Jun, and introduces Ninomiya as his boyfriend. Ninomiya shoots Aiba a look of surprise, the second one that night.

“I hope it’s okay,” whispers Aiba so Jun doesn’t hear. “I mean, if I’m your fake boyfriend then you’re mine too, right?”

Ninomiya relaxes, and gives a small laugh. “I guess.”

A junior bartender shows them to a table, not too far from the bar counter but still adequately private. Aiba twists in his armchair so he can speak to Jun.

“Sorry I haven’t come in a while,” says Aiba.

Jun is polishing glasses behind the counter. He cracks a grin. “Nah, it’s okay. I see you’ve been busy.” Jun bobs his head towards Ninomiya. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Aiba beams and nods. “For the time being, yes.”

Jun laughs, then asks for their order. Never once does he let on if he recognises Ninomiya. Aiba loves him for it.

Ninomiya isn’t drinking tonight because he’s driving, so Aiba decides to order a mocktail in solidarity.

“Are you usually this nice to your boyfriends?” asks Ninomiya airily, and Aiba is glad to hear him sounding like himself again.

“Only to the fake ones,” he says seriously, inciting a laugh from Ninomiya.

“We should call each other something that doesn’t have a ‘-san’ tacked to the end,” whispers Ninomiya, hunching forward so Aiba can hear him. “If we’re going to be boyfriends we need to sound less distant.”

“Sure,” says Aiba, scooting to the edge of his seat. “What should I call you?”

“Everyone calls me ‘Nino’.”

“Do you want me to call you ‘Nino’?”

“That’s a good start, I think. We’ve just started going out, after all. Last names are good.”

Aiba clears his throat and straightens his back. He bows. “Hello, Nino.”

Ninomiya—Nino—bows back, and starts giggling. Aiba is tickled to see how much he’s enjoying this.

“Okay, so what do I call you?” asks Nino.

Aiba thinks about this for a moment. “Since we’re still on a last-name basis… ‘Aiba-kun’?”

“Got it,” Nino leans back into his seat, satisfied, “Aiba-kun.”

Aiba grins.

They chat as they sip on their drinks, occasionally involving the bartenders in conversation since they're the only customers, and at some point Nino gets cosy and starts calling Jun 'Massan'. Aiba marvels at how Nino seems to magically make people warm up to him, especially since Jun, who's just about the coolest guy Aiba knows, doesn't seem to mind the nickname at all.

When the bartenders get stolen away by a lone regular who seats herself at the counter, the topics shift to where they went to school and the TV shows they watched growing up. Aiba confesses he’s watched all of Nino’s dramas; Nino drags his fingers over his face, legitimately embarrassed.

“Why? Aren’t you proud of your work?”

“I don’t know, I was so young back then. A lot of the time I didn’t know what I was doing.” Nino licks his lips. “And I think I’m a better novelist than I am an actor?”

“Rubbish.” Aiba snorts. “You were great. You were _so_ popular, my god. Everything that you were in had really high viewership ratings.”

“Yeah, but I never won awards as an actor,” Nino points out.

“So?” Aiba challenges. “Millions of people have never won awards for their jobs and they’re still incredibly good at them.”

Nino laughs, raising his glass to concede defeat.

“How many years has it been?” asks Aiba, wrinkling his nose as he tries to remember when Nino left the acting scene. “Which one was your last work?”

“’A Tomorrow Like Today Will Come Again’. Nine years ago.” Nino peers at Aiba past the rim of his glass, the tips of his ears scarlet. “Stop reminiscing.”

“Why?”

“It’s over.” Nino puts down his glass. There’s something defeated about the way he says it that makes Aiba’s heart clench.

“For you, maybe,” says Aiba. “It will never be over, not really. Not for the fans.”

Nino’s lips part, as if he’s going to say something. He then shakes his head and succumbs to mirth. “You’re something, Aiba-kun. You’re really something.”

Aiba beams at him, proud.

“Have you always been like this?” asks Nino. “Mr Find-the-silver-lining-in-everything?”

“I’m pleased you think that way, but no.” Aiba chortles. “I can be pessimistic when I want to. Like, when I get sick, I never believe I’ll get well. It’s very ‘this is it, I’m never going to be the same again’.”

“That’s surprising to hear.”

“Yeah. I’ve had pneumothorax in both my lungs.”

Nino stares. “No way.”

“Yeah.” Aiba gives a solemn nod.

There’s something on Aiba’s mind, something that’s been gnawing at him since Nino roped him in for this job. Aiba decides to broach the subject.

“Since we’re being kind of up-close-and-personal right now, can I ask you something?” Aiba leans forward across their table. Nino copies him. “How did you know I was, uh, suited for this project? I mean, I could’ve been in a relationship, or too straight to help.”

“I had no clue. You just seemed like a really nice person.” Nino smirks. “Also I thought you were hot, and decided to try my luck.”

The compliment has come out of the blue, and Aiba is struck shy. He tries to hide his awkwardness by taking a gulp of his drink and laughing it off, but performing the two actions simultaneously makes him choke and he ends up coughing until his eyes water. The junior bartender rushes over with a towel. Nino can’t stop laughing.

“Oh god,” wheezes Aiba, covering his mouth with the towel so he can cough into it, “that was embarrassing.”

Nino lolls in his armchair as he watches Aiba, a lazy smile on his face. He then picks up his phone and hits a button to light up the screen. “The hour’s up, Aiba-kun.”

“Oh.” Aiba suddenly remembers he’s being paid a lot for this. “Okay, let me get the bill.”

“Thank you,” says Nino, too graciously.

“You aren’t even going to offer to pay?” Aiba gives an exaggerated gasp.

“I paid for dinner,” comes Nino’s cool reply.

“Fair enough,” says Aiba, taking out his wallet, but Nino laughs and gently slaps Aiba on the knee.

“I’m kidding. You’re on the clock. I’ll get this.” Nino signals to the junior bartender for the cheque.

Jun smiles at them from behind the counter. “Leaving so soon?” he asks.

“We’ll come again,” says Nino, voice full of promise.

They say goodbye to Jun and leave the building. When they’re outside, Nino offers once again to send Aiba home.

“On the clock?” says Aiba, hopeful.

Nino grants Aiba a bracing smile. “You wish.”

“Then never mind,” Aiba laughs, “the trains are still running anyway.”

“I’ll transfer tonight’s fee to your bank account when I get home,” promises Nino. "For two hours."

Aiba blinks. "Just an hour would do. I told you, we don't have to count the one in the restaurant."

"Let's not deviate from the rules on our first date," says Nino. His voice is casual, but Aiba knows he's talking business now. "I'm usually not a stickler for the rules, but this is a big favour you're doing me and I don't want to start this deal off on the wrong foot. Okay?"

Aiba supposes Nino is right. He's glad that Nino's being a considerate employer, no matter the queer nature of the job. Besides, he's just here for the ride; Nino (though more likely his agent) is the one calling the shots. Who's Aiba to decide whether or not he gets paid fairly?

“Got it," says Aiba. "I’m going this way, so.” He takes a step back, starting to wave, but Nino reaches out and catches his wrist, stopping him.

“Maybe you should plan the dates from now on,” says Nino, sliding his palm past the back of Aiba’s hand to hold his fingers in a loose grip. “I liked the bar a lot, so… I’ll ask my agent if he thinks it’s a good idea.”

Aiba nods, satisfaction bubbling within him. “Sure, whatever. Just let me know when we’re meeting again.”

“Okay.” Nino releases Aiba’s fingers. “My car’s this way.” He gestures in the opposite direction.

Aiba waves again. “See you around!”

“Thanks for tonight!” Nino calls.

Aiba puts his all into the last wave he gives Nino, then turns on his heel to make a run for the train, bursting with accomplishment.


	3. UnBridled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the train nerdery. The museum exists and it's one of my favourites.

“You’re in a good mood,” remarks Ohno, squashing past Aiba in the narrow corridor outside their bathroom. 

Aiba is looking the flip phone Nino gave him while brushing his teeth. “I have a date tonight,” says Aiba triumphantly, voice garbled by foam and his toothbrush.

“I’m sorry, what?” Ohno grabs his facial soap. “A gate’s coming tonight?”

Aiba makes an impatient noise before lunging past Ohno and spitting into the sink. “I have a date tonight!”

Ohno stops lathering. “Aiba-chan,” he beams, “you’re not single anymore?”

Aiba finishes rinsing his mouth and shakes his head. “I am. He’s my fake boyfriend. But the dates are real, which is why I’m happy. There’s real food and everything.”

Ohno’s face twists into a picture of incomprehension.

“Okay, okay. Basically, he came into the dealership, I serviced his car, he asked me to be his fake boyfriend, and I said yes.” Aiba slides his toothbrush back into its slot. “He pays me by the hour.”

Ohno’s eyes widen. “You’re moonlighting as an _escort_?”

“Something like that, I guess. It’s only for a while. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to make some money on the side for my parents.”

“Oh yeah, your dad’s accident…”

Aiba nods. “It’s gonna help _so much_.”

“You sure you’re not being taken advantage of?” asks Ohno.

“Nah. He’s cool.” Aiba thinks about how Nino has treated him so far. “He’s a good guy.”

“I’ll take your word for it. But be careful, all right?”

Aiba grins. It’s nice to have a roommate who looks out for him.

“Who’s this guy, anyway?” asks Ohno, bent over the sink as he washes his face. “Like, what does he do?”

Aiba wonders if he’s supposed to say. There wasn’t a formal contract or anything, and at the bar they kept it on the down-low because it seemed appropriate at the time: it was weird to walk in there announcing they were boyfriends and then immediately call backsies.

“He’s an author.” Aiba decides not to reveal Nino’s name, just in case. “I think he’s doing research for his next novel or something. Our previous date was planned by his agent, so it’s not like he has complete say in the matter.”

“Wait, so it’s like… an experiment?”

“Yes!” exclaims Aiba happily. “You get it, Oh-chan! It’s a fake boyfriend experiment.”

Ohno grabs a towel to dry his face. “And you’re not afraid…?”

“Why would I be?”

“I mean, you’re playing his boyfriend. Pretending to be in love.” Ohno puts the towel down. “Aiba-chan, come on. You’re already thirty-four. You’ve been in love before. You know what can happen.”

Aiba blinks, then breaks into peals of laughter. “Are you saying I could fall for him?” Aiba waves a hand in front of Ohno's face, as if to physically dissipate his claim. “Get out of here, Oh-chan. I won’t fall for someone who’s paying me to pretend to be his boyfriend.”

Ohno grabs his toothbrush. “Well, even if that doesn’t happen,” he places the toothbrush against his teeth before moving his head from side to side so he doesn’t have to use his arm, “you need to remember: he might fall for you.”

***

“Question,” says Aiba, propping his elbow on the shoulder of the passenger seat, “have you ever considered how this fake boyfriend thing could become real?”

The car suddenly accelerates; Nino then slams his foot down on the brake and they both lurch. Aiba clings to the seat, shocked.

“I’m so sorry.” Nino places a hand on Aiba’s arm, looking stricken himself. “Are you okay?”

“I am, but you’re obviously not,” says Aiba. “What happened?”

“I was thinking about some dialogue, thought my foot was on the brake but it wasn’t, the light was changing, and you asked me something…” Nino sighs. “Sorry. What did you say?”

Aiba suddenly feels quite foolish repeating the question. This is _Ninomiya Kazunari_. He’s not going on a date because he’s actually interested in Aiba. He’s doing this for some novel he’s writing. Besides, he used to be an actor; he’s definitely capable of not letting his emotions bleed from make-believe into reality. This is work for him, and whatever he has with Aiba is purely a business transaction. Aiba is only feeling anxious because he’s afraid any romantic feelings would complicate the status quo: a very comfortable, very easy interaction that is a mere step away from real friendship.

“I was just wondering which is your pitching hand,” Aiba says instead.

"My left," says Nino. Aiba hums in wonder, glad to glean a new tidbit about Nino, and tells himself it's just as well Nino didn't hear his question.

They going to a batting centre near the dealership which Aiba used to love but hasn’t been to in a while. Nino asked his agent, a stick-in-the-mud by the name of Sakurai, if Aiba could plan the rest of the dates; Sakurai has said that he’ll let Aiba take charge only if this date goes well. Aiba doesn’t know what the fuss is about who gets to decide what, but he enjoys planning excursions as much as he likes going on them, so in the end it’s all going to work out. For him, at least.

Nino, as it turns out, is a fantastic pitcher. Aiba whoops and cheers when Nino manages to knock out all nine boxes on the pitching machine in one go, albeit on his second try. They exchange exuberant high fives as they trade places, and Nino claps and shouts his encouragement as Aiba challenges the same machine. Aiba doesn’t do as well as Nino and begs to go again.

The batting machine has been upgraded since the last time Aiba visited and there are now a lot more options for customisation. Nino mischievously locks in a full curveball course for Aiba and cackles wildly as he ducks out of the cage. Aiba curses him as he spends the next minute trying to hit the balls back, but by the tenth ball he gets the hang of it and finally scores a home run. He raises both fists in the air and gives Nino the smuggest look he can muster.

It’s Nino’s turn to bat, and Aiba doesn’t tamper with his machine, claiming he’s more mature than that. Nino snorts and flips the switch, but the first few balls are too fast for him and he rams his thumb rapidly on the button to slow them down as he squeals for help amidst manic giggles. Aiba laughs so hard he falls off the bench.

Nino exits the cage, swiping his sleeve across his brow. Aiba grins at him from his perch on the bench. Nino grins toothily back, and holds out his hands for a double high five. Aiba returns the gesture, and, on a whim, locks their fingers together to yank Nino towards him. Nino laughs, stumbling forward, his legs jamming between Aiba’s thighs.

Aiba looks up and meets Nino’s eyes. Their faces have never been this close. Granted, it’s only their second date. Third, if the Sakurai-planned one counts.

“So—is this the part where I kiss you?” asks Nino, curling his fingers to press them against Aiba's skin, before pumping his arms like a cheerleader flashing pom-poms, effectively rendering the moment more jovial than romantic.

Aiba shakes his head, and points his chin towards the clock on the wall. “Hour’s up, Nino.”

“So soon?” Nino groans and falls heavily forward, clutching at Aiba’s shoulders. Aiba doesn’t mind. In fact, he kind of likes the physical contact. And he too thinks the evening has ended far too soon.

Aiba remembers how distracted Nino was in the car earlier. He thinks about how all of that stress seemed to fade when they started their date. Aiba realises there’s a part of this job he really likes: helping Nino be the happiest version of himself.

Suddenly coming up with an idea, Aiba puts his hands on Nino’s hips and pushes, giving him room to stand up. He looks Nino in the eye and says:

“Let me give you a discount.”

“What?”

“Our next date. I’m planning it, right? An hour won't cut it; let’s spend the whole day together. What are you doing Thursday?”

Nino sputters. “You know this is all - you know you’re my _fake_ boyfriend, right?”

“True, but I think you’re becoming my actual friend, so,” Aiba squeezes Nino’s hips, “what do you say?”

Nino arches back and drags his hand over his face, covering his grin. Aiba laughs. Nino’s so cute when he’s happy. Avoiding eye contact with Aiba makes him even cuter.

“Okay. Thursday.” Nino slides into place beside Aiba and angles a wrist on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he says, and gives Aiba a peck on the cheek.

Aiba’s hand flies to the spot where Nino’s kissed him. “I should charge you for that!” he yells, pretending to be offended.

“Fake boyfriend, fake kiss, doesn’t count,” argues Nino, backing towards the door of their cage. Aiba catches onto his plan for escape, and starts to advance.

“Come here, you little—” Aiba lunges at Nino and grasps air. Giggling wildly, Nino turns and speeds towards the exit.

Aiba gives chase, his laughter billowing through the stalls.

***

Aiba has taken to calling Nino every night, ‘off the clock’, to pitch ideas for their day-long date. He first suggests the Totoro Forest in Sayama, but Nino hates bugs. He then suggests Kujukuri Beach. Nino then confesses he isn’t a fan of ‘outside’. Aiba asks if this means the outdoors. Nino says no, it literally means outside—of his house.

Aiba doesn’t back down, however. He relentlessly comes up with ideas, from outlet malls to animation exhibitions to indoor theme parks, things that Nino at least promises to think about. It isn’t until the third night of phone calls that Nino finally agrees to the Railway Museum in Omiya. He’s thought about setting a story in an old train, and would be interested to actually see one.

Aiba tells Nino to leave everything to him.

They meet at Ebisu Station and Aiba wants to splurge on Green Car seats for added privacy and comfort. Nino tries to convince Aiba that one of the benefits of being a has-been actor is waning public interest in what he does in private, and it honestly doesn’t bother him that much, especially since he should be grateful that, as a public figure, he's remembered for his existence even though he isn't dead yet. Aiba argues fake relationship or not, they’re on a real date, and Nino is considering this notion when a silver-haired man walks up to them and asks if Nino was the young man who played the son in ‘Day 20825’, and when Nino says yes the man tears up and asks for a selfie, saying the drama gave him the courage to mend relations with his estranged family.

After Nino shakes the man’s hand and says goodbye, Aiba tries to get Nino to admit that was kind of nice, but Nino nudges Aiba’s elbow and starts walking up the platform to where the Green Cars will stop, saying how it’s not fair that Aiba has to stand idly by and watch Nino interacting with other people when it is, rightfully, their time together. Aiba bounces alongside Nino, feeling ridiculously happy as they make for the machine that would allow them to purchase their reserved seats.

The trip to Omiya is 40 minutes with no transfers, and Aiba has prepared a game of Old Maid to play with Nino on the train. It’s hilarious because Aiba is so bad at it, and when he ends up being the old maid for the fifth time in a row Nino pulls out his phone to take a picture of the damned joker, except he’s laughing so hard, it takes a few tries before he manages to hit the icon for the camera application.

At the Railway Museum, they marvel at how the ticketing gates at the entrance mimic the actual gates to a train platform: with the IC card they use to ride actual trains they can pay for the fee and tap into the museum. Aiba is excited at how futuristic it all is and insists Nino take a video of him passing through the gates; Nino grouses about Aiba being an embarrassment—there’s a group of elementary schoolers alighting a bus at the front porch and they’ll be in the line for the entrance any moment—but he takes the video anyway.

Nino wants to see the main exhibition hall, and he enters it in wide-eyed wonder: there are dozens of retired train cars, collected from all over Japan across different eras. He consults the map in his hands before murmuring ‘imperial trains’ and heads for that exhibit, a dimly lit one that’s housed behind glass. Aiba follows, but is distracted by a centuries-old steam locomotive and stops to see that instead. A minute later Nino is back, complaining about how Aiba needs to tell him where he’s going; he looked around and didn’t see Aiba anywhere. Aiba apologises, laughing, and Nino calls him insincere. Aiba then slips his hand into Nino’s and promises not to go anywhere without him. Nino’s ears flush red; he tears his hand out of Aiba’s to punch him on the shoulder, then grabs Aiba’s elbow and drags him to the imperial train exhibit.

Aiba thinks Nino is absolutely adorable.

The elementary school group has a guide with them, and Aiba and Nino board one of the elevated passenger trains to look out the windows and spot the children who aren’t paying attention and are goofing around. They give the children made-up names (“That one with the buzz cut’s ‘Tatsuhiko’,” says Aiba matter-of-factly, sending Nino into peals of laughter) and construct backstories for them, explaining their behaviour. Nino compliments Aiba on his flair for the inane and asks if he’d like to contribute to a novel sometime. Aiba says he’d be honoured.

Some of the exhibits have staircases beside them that lead to a cavity beneath the train; museum-goers can descend into these to study the substructure. Aiba finds it fascinating and bounds from corner to corner, trying to see this underbelly from every possible angle. Nino reminds him this is a tiny room, and almost like an orchestrated prank a crowd of elementary schoolers come flooding down the stairs the moment the words leave Nino’s mouth. He ends up squished against the wall, Aiba’s back against his chest. Nino pops his head past Aiba’s shoulder so he can breathe. The kids are making a lot of noise, looking for clues of some sort. They’re all holding worksheets, and they peer up at the bottom of the train while filling in some blanks with answers.

“Look, it’s Tatsuhiko,” says Aiba brightly, pointing at the boy with the buzz cut, who notices and frowns at him. The boy edges towards the stairs, calling for his teacher.

Nino swats at Aiba’s arm. “Don’t be creepy.”

Soon after, a grownup, whom they assume is the children’s teacher, comes down the stairs and realises the children have trapped two of the museum’s visitors against the wall. The teacher apologises profusely and herds the pupils back up, warning them to be more considerate in public places. As the crowd thins, Aiba turns to speak to Nino, but hits him in the jaw with his shoulder instead.

Nino yelps in pain and holds his jaw; Aiba gasps and takes Nino’s hand away so he can rub at the spot.

“I’m so, so sorry,” says Aiba, spluttering. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” grumbles Nino. “But I’ll live.”

“God, I hope it doesn’t bruise.” Aiba bends to check Nino’s jaw, touching his fingertips to it. “It’s pink now, but there’s no bump.”

“It’s pink because you rubbed it so hard.”

“I’m sorry.” Aiba rests his hand against Nino’s neck, keeping his thumb on Nino’s jaw to massage it. “I get kind of clumsy sometimes.”

Their eyes meet, and Nino drops his gaze to the floor, his ears growing a tell-tale red. Aiba is suddenly all too aware of how close they are, and how he’s touching Nino’s face.

“I’m okay now, Aiba-kun.” Nino turns his head to look to the staircase. “Let’s go, there’s still a lot to see.”

Aiba doesn’t really know why he’s doing it, but he uses the thumb that’s still on Nino’s jaw to steer him back so they’re looking at each other again. He sees Nino’s eyes dart to his lips, then back up again, trying to read Aiba’s intent. It gives him confidence.

Aiba kisses him. It’s tender and quiet and over in a second. Aiba wants to do it again. He leans in, but Nino stops him with a hand to his chest.

“I thought we said no intimacy,” says Nino. He doesn’t word it like a protest. It’s more of a question, a hidden request for permission.

“Did that count as intimacy?” Aiba tilts his head forward to bump noses with Nino, who doesn’t shy away from Aiba. That’s a good sign. “Besides, you’ve kissed me before, remember?”

“That was a peck on the cheek. A friendly kiss,” says Nino, tone challenging.

Aiba considers this. “True, but I’m allowed to negotiate any terms I’m not uncomfortable with, remember?”

“And you’re uncomfortable with…?”

“Not kissing you when I’m supposed to be playing your boyfriend.” Aiba lands his lips on Nino’s once more. He’s thrilled when Nino kisses him back.

When they break apart, Nino says:

“You understand I’m not paying you extra for this, right?”

A laugh escapes Aiba. “How about we forget that you’re paying me, just for today?”

“What?” asks Nino, breathless.

“I’m saying: let me be in love with you, just for a day.”

“Why?” Nino’s voice cracks.

“Because you deserve it.” Aiba doesn’t know how he’s coming up with all this. He’s just acting on instinct, saying what he believes.

To Aiba’s surprise, Nino starts blinking back tears; Aiba immediately sweeps him into a hug.

The rest of the museum needs to be explored, so they go back up to the ground floor and head for the trains they’ve yet to see. There’s one that Aiba is particularly attracted to, a gorgeous 1930s model with a wooden interior and velvet seats that has a moving montage outside its windows: pictures from the route it used to ply, coloured, pieced together and animated to give the museum’s visitors a taste of how it was like to ride through the winding vista gifted by Nagano’s mountains. There are even speakers overhead playing a recording of the actual chugging of the train. Aiba slides into a booth, running his hand over the velvet upholstery; he leans back and looks out the window at the moving montage and fantasises about going on a journey. Nino comes to sit beside him and pillows his head on Aiba’s shoulder, gazing out the window as well; Aiba’s already imagining the journey with him.

They board a 200 Series bullet train, finding the driver’s compartment open to the public. The controls, untouchable and protected by a panel of clear plastic save for a single lever, are on an elevated platform taller than either of them, accessible via a short but steep flight of steps. There are two chairs on the platform, and Aiba and Nino look at each other for a moment before leaping forward and scrambling for the one that’s closest to the lever. Aiba wins, Nino calls him a child, and they both spend a divine minute pretending to drive the train.

After lunch they continue exploring, and discover there’s something called a panorama deck on the roof of the museum. It’s well-known as a spot for bullet train enthusiasts to watch the trains speed in and out of Omiya Station, and they decide to take a look.

The moment Aiba steps past of the doors of the lift lobby to find the roof deserted an idea occurs to him, and he inwardly applauds his genius as he backs up against a wall and reaches out to pull Nino along with him. Nino bewilderedly stumbles back—he was quite focused on crossing the deck to check out the area where the bullet trains run past—and his eyes widen as Aiba snakes a hand around his waist to draw him close, then presses their lips together.

It doesn’t take long for Nino’s eyes to flutter shut. The kiss is different this time: it’s searching, languorous, gloriously deep, dangerously heady. Nino’s hand finds Aiba’s and he laces their fingers together; Aiba responds by clutching Nino’s palm tightly against his. Against Aiba’s mouth, Nino gives a soft sigh.

They don’t stop until they hear the doors of the lift lobby swinging open. As they split guiltily apart Aiba prays it’s not someone from the museum who’s seen him kiss Nino on the security room monitors and has come to yell at them that this is a child-friendly institution, but it turns out to be a middle-aged man who is carrying a DSLR camera and a tripod, all ready to capture some cool pictures of the Japanese transport industry’s pride and joy. He barely notices them.

Aiba grins, then takes Nino’s hand and tugs him towards the edge of the deck. “Let’s go watch some trains.”

***

Nino appeared on many a variety programme back when he was an actor, and once he started planning the date Aiba had asked Shuri if she knew how to watch TV programmes that aired over 10 years ago. She sent a link to his phone that showed a single two-minute video that was truncated at the end. The next day he complained to Shuri that the video was cut short, and Shuri told him that what he was looking at was called a tweet, and taught him how expand the thread to watch the rest of the videos. There were about 40 of them, and Aiba spent his entire lunch break watching Nino from the ages of 17 to 25 talking about all sorts of things: his work, his preferences, his family.

“I hope you still like hamburg steak,” says Aiba when they exit the Railway Museum. They’re trying to beat the evening-time rush and are heading back to Tokyo for dinner.

“How did you even know I like hamburg steak?” Nino raises his hand to shield his eyes from the late afternoon sun.

“I did my research,” says Aiba, grinning. “Watched a bunch of old videos.”

Nino covers his eyes and ducks. “That’s so embarrassing…”

“Don’t worry, you were expert and charming in all of them.”

Nino removes his hands from his face. “You know, it’s not really fair that you get to access all this information about me.”

“You’re in the - what’s the word? Public domain, was it?”

“Technically I’m not, but you’re missing the point.”

Aiba takes out his wallet as they enter the station, ready to tap past the gates. “What do you want to know?”

Nino opens his mouth to ask, then stops, his grin fading. “You don’t have to tell me, you know. Even though I asked.”

Aiba shrugs. “I want to. I want to tell you I love karaage, and that I’m from Chiba, and my parents own a Chinese restaurant in Makuhari.”

Nino looks torn. “Aiba-kun… You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“I don’t know,” Nino sounds upset, sending panic coursing through Aiba, “work so hard for this experiment? You need to remember this boyfriend thing isn’t real.”

“Nino,” Aiba tries to soothe him, “I told you, it’s okay. Today’s special.”

Nino exhales, licking his lips. He looks away from Aiba for a few moments. “Let’s just go for dinner, okay?”

Slowly, Aiba nods. He thinks he knows why Nino is suddenly uncomfortable: he’s feeling bad about taking advantage of Aiba. Not that it’s actually that—Aiba did make it clear that it’s okay for Nino to treat him like his actual boyfriend for the day—but Aiba totally gets how their sudden closeness could guilt Nino into such a mood.

He just wishes Nino could trust him enough not to feel that way.

Aiba walks closer to Nino, hoping the proximity would offer some comfort, but Nino starts fishing for his IC card in his pants, putting distance between them.

It stings a lot more than Aiba expects.


	4. UnBinding

It’s been six days. Aiba swims sorrily in a pool of malaise the entire time, going over the date in his mind again and again, wondering if his actions that day—the intimacy, the enthusiasm in finding out Nino’s preferences—had jeopardised not only their professional fake-boyfriend relationship, but also their friendship.

Nino hasn’t contacted him since they parted ways after a very quiet hamburg steak dinner. He usually drops a thank-you text, or one that notifies Aiba he’s made the bank transfer (he has; Aiba checked just yesterday), but over the past week there’s been no word from him. The bank transfer is the only reason Aiba hasn’t assumed he’s dead. Aiba doesn’t want to come across as needy so he gave up texting Nino after the first couple of days, but he hasn’t given up hope. Nino's initial proposal required Aiba to work for five hours. Aiba's technically only worked for three, since the hour at the bar was an add-on and the day-long date at the train museum was, in Aiba's words, part of a discount. This means he hasn't completed the five-hour requirement yet. Aiba checks his phone every chance he can and stays awake as long as his eyelids allow, just in case Nino calls him.

It’s on this sixth day, while Aiba is struggling not to give in to sleep, that the flip phone trills. Aiba bolts up in bed and immediately picks up the call.

“Hello?” he says, sounding winded. He realises his heart is beating so fast he’s out of breath.

“Hey, Aiba-kun.”

Aiba is relieved, so relieved, at hearing Nino’s voice. “Nino, hi. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, sorry I’ve been out of touch.” Nino sounds different. His voice is deeper, more sombre. “Listen—I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Okay, I’m listening.” Aiba grips the phone tight.

Nino draws a breath. “Sorry it’s so sudden, but I’ve gotten enough material for the story I’m writing, so I’ve decided to end our project. I know I’ve sent you an hour’s pay for last week’s date, but after giving it some thought I don’t think I can cash in on your charity like that. I’m going to give you the full amount for Thursday’s eight hours, and we can wrap things up.”

Aiba freezes. He tries to process everything Nino’s just said. “So… We’re not gonna see each other anymore?”

There’s a hint of a sigh from Nino’s end. “I know where you work, and I live in Daikanyama, so there’s a high chance that we could still bump into each other.”

The way Nino says it, the words he chooses—it’s like he doesn’t want to be friends with Aiba anymore.

“Oh, and the phone,” continues Nino. “You can keep it, but the lines on both my end and yours will be terminated tomorrow, so… I don’t know, sell it to a recycle shop if it’s taking up space in your home, yeah?”

“Nino,” Aiba starts, before realising he doesn’t know what to say. He lets the moment stretch out, wishing for Nino to say something. Something to take it all back.

“Technically,” Nino breaks the silence, “your workplace has a record of my address and contact details. If you ever wanted my real number or where I live, you have access to them.”

Aiba closes his eyes, hurt that Nino would even consider he’d do that. “That’ll be really unprofessional of me.”

“Right. Sorry.” Nino takes another audible breath. “So, anyway, thanks a lot for helping me with this project.”

At this, Aiba feels better, though not much. Nino sounds completely sincere. “I was an okay fake boyfriend?”

Nino takes a second to respond. “You were more than okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Aiba manages to smile. “Good luck with your novel. I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“I don’t know about that, but…” Nino releases a sigh, “I appreciate the thought.”

“Sure thing.” Aiba thinks of what else he can say to prolong the goodbye. “Oh, and you really don’t have to pay me extra.”

“That is not okay. Take it as a bonus, yeah? I asked for five hours of your time but you gave me way more than that.”

“I didn’t do it for the money,” says Aiba immediately, then realises it’s not true. “Correction: I might have started out doing it for the money, but the more I got to know you the less it felt that way.”

“No matter how you feel, Aiba-kun, it was a job. A job that I offered and you took. Just let me give you what I think you worked for, okay?”

“It was hardly work.”

“Aiba-kun.” Nino sounds exhausted. “Please.”

Aiba decides to back down. “Fine, fine. I shouldn’t argue with anyone who’s trying to give me money.”

“That’s absolutely right.” Nino sounds relieved. “I’ll send the money over tonight, so check your bank balance tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Aiba isn’t too happy about how businesslike Nino is. “I will.”

There’s another pause. “Thank you for everything, Aiba-kun.”

Aiba nods, then remembers Nino can’t see him over the phone. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I got to know you.” Aiba waits for the ‘me too’, but it never comes.

“Bye, Aiba-kun.”

Aiba hates that it sounds so final. “Bye, Nino.”

Nino hangs up, leaving Aiba feeling incredibly empty. He crawls out of bed and makes his way to Ohno’s room. There’s light coming from the crack under his door. Aiba knocks.

“Come in,” says Ohno, and Aiba slides the door open. Ohno is at his desk, working on his hobby, shaping figures from clay. He takes one look at Aiba’s forlornness and pauses his work. “What happened?”

Aiba clambers on Ohno’s bed, leans against the wall, and draws his knees close to his chest. “My fake boyfriend just broke up with me.”

Ohno blinks. “How does that work?”

“No more dates. He’s experienced enough false romance to write his novel.”

“But you’re still friends, right?”

“I don’t know. I guess. He told me to look up his real number at work if I want to.”

“That’s unfeeling.”

Aiba heaves a sigh, bumping the back of his head painfully against the wall as he looks up at the ceiling. “I knew he was sorta lackadaisical, but yeah. That did catch me by surprise.”

“I don’t know how to comfort you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I feel like I should. You look like shit. You look like you had a real breakup, and the fake breakup came and shat on that real breakup.”

Aiba laughs in spite of himself. “Maybe I liked him a little more than I should’ve.”

Ohno spins his chair around to face his figurines again. “Not gonna say I told you so.”

“You just did.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Nah, I deserve it. Got too caught up in all the feelings.” Aiba gathers Ohno’s blanket in his arms and hugs it. “I just wish he could’ve liked me a little more too.”

***

There’s still grease on his hands but Shuri says the man sounded urgent, so Aiba hurries out of the workshop as he wipes his hands on a rag, and looks for the stranger in the suit. He’s standing there clutching a briefcase, and squints when he sees Aiba.

“Hello—Aiba-san?” voices the man, tentatively.

Aiba gives the man a curt bow, wary. “You are?”

“I’m Sakurai Sho, Ninomiya-sensei’s agent.” The man retrieves a name card from his breast pocket. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” says Aiba slowly, looking first at the card, then at Sakurai. “Um, can I help you?”

Sakurai sucks in air through his teeth. “I’m aware of how inappropriate it is to visit you at your workplace, but it’s quite the emergency.”

Aiba’s heart plunges into his gut. “Did something happen to Nino?”

“Oh, no, his life isn’t in peril or anything of the sort,” Sakurai is quick to rectify, “it’s just…” He pauses, hesitant. “Actually, this is _exceedingly_ unprofessional of me, considering my capacity as Ninomiya-sensei’s agent, but I’m also his friend, so if I may be so bold to ask—what happened?”

Aiba is stunned. “Excuse me?”

Sakurai sighs. “He’s wants to pull out of the project. Something about how he can’t visualise the ending. It happened right after he decided to call off the fake boyfriend thing, so I thought you could shed some light on it.”

“Sakurai-san,” Aiba tries his best to be patient, “I’m not following. Nino and I haven’t spoken in days.”

Sakurai maintains eye contact for a few seconds more, then checks his watch. “Aiba-san, it’s after hours, right? If you could spare me some time, please let us sit down somewhere so I can explain why this project is crucial, and how he shouldn’t back out of it.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t see how talking to me will help.”

“I think it will.” Sakurai remains stubborn. “I need to figure out how to talk him out of it, and you’re the only person who can help me understand what’s going on.”

There’s a part of Aiba that doesn’t want to have anything to do with this. He’s convinced himself that whatever he had with Nino was exactly what it was—a masquerade—and if Nino wants to distance himself, Aiba will too.

But the wretched truth is: Aiba still cares for Nino. Deeply. He’s even hung onto the damned flip phone, as if throwing it away would mean losing a bit of Nino from whatever meagre part he had of him. So if this Sakurai is saying Nino quitting whatever he’s decided to quit will jeopardise his career, Aiba has every reason to help prevent that.

“I’ll meet you at that Denny’s at nine.” Aiba points at the family restaurant across the road.

Sakurai’s shoulders slump in relief, and he raises his hands, palms meeting. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

***

Sakurai is already waiting for Aiba when he gets to the restaurant; he waves Aiba over, and asks him if he can get him anything. Aiba says no. He hopes it sufficiently conveys that he isn’t intending to stay long.

“Thanks for meeting me,” says Sakurai.

“Sure.” Aiba studies Sakurai’s face. Nino told him Sakurai was a stick-in-the-mud, but he didn’t mention that Sakurai has baby deer eyes and looks like an honest schoolboy. “What can I help you with?”

“Maybe begin by telling me what happened during your last date?” Sakurai props his elbows on the table and clasps his hands.

Aiba stalls as he thinks about how he and Nino kissed. Twice. He decides not to tell Sakurai about that. It’s private. Besides, it’s also kind of painful to remember. “We went to the Railway Museum in Omiya, then we went for dinner. That’s basically it.”

Sakurai frowns. “He told me the same thing, though he didn’t mention dinner.” Sakurai unclasps his hands and drums his fingers on the table, thinking. “Okay, Aiba-san—I’m going to tell you what exactly the fake boyfriend project was for, and maybe you can help me figure out how to convince Ninomiya-sensei not to let go of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. All right?”

“I’ll try my best.”

Sakurai launches into his explanation. A year ago, a publishing house in the US reached out to all their affiliates in Japan, asking for a contribution to an anthology of fiction by LGBTQ authors, with unique-yet-universal experiences as the main theme. Nino was approached for a story proposal, and he pitched the idea of a young man, fresh out of the closet, renting his first boyfriend. It was a story he’d been writing on and off over the years, but Nino isn’t the only openly gay author in Japan who’s brilliant, so he knew who he was up against and wasn’t exactly holding out for the contract. Still, the American publishers ended up liking his idea, and invited him onboard.

At that point, the story was actually almost done, but on a re-read Nino felt his ideas were too stale, so he decided to rewrite some parts. He tried for a few days but kept getting stuck. That’s when Sakurai suggested he actually rent a boyfriend instead of just imagining it. They called up a male companion service and arranged a date. Nino came back from it grumpy and dismayed. Reportedly, the boy looked underage, kept asking Nino to talk about himself, stroked his thigh too much, and smelled funny. In short, the experience did not help at all.

Aiba feels a strange sense of satisfaction when he hears this.

“It was then that he decided to take a couple days off from the story. He cleaned his house, upgraded his phone plan, sent his car for the biannual inspection. He then came back from the dealer, called me, and said he asked the mechanic to be his fake boyfriend.” Sakurai gestures regally to Aiba, who gives a feeble smile.

Sakurai goes on. “Ninomiya-sensei decided the experiment would be more effective at getting him past his writer’s block if he didn’t actually know what was happening during each date, just like the main character in his story. We thought it’d be too much to ask to have you, the fake boyfriend, actually plan the dates, since you were already doing us a ridiculous favour. Thus, all the planning fell on my shoulders.”

Aiba lets out an unabashed laugh. “He hated the restaurant you picked.”

“It’s one of my favourite places.” Sakurai gives an apologetic grin. “But you brought him to that bar. He loved that, and came to me insisting that you assume the date-planning duties, but I was sceptical—the point of him doing the experiment in the first place was to get him out of his comfort zone. The last thing we wanted was for someone to put him in it.”

“Uh oh,” says Aiba, guiltily, but Sakurai is shaking his head.

“Not really ‘uh-oh’. He came back from the second date in really high spirits, saying that you brought him to a batting centre because it was something you liked, and he didn’t have anything to do with the choice. It was only after you both started playing that you found out he also likes baseball. That was exactly the kind of thing that happened in the novel, except the scene was different and had to do with a pizza restaurant, so it was simultaneously reaffirming and revolutionary. He rewrote two chapters that night.”

“Did he tell you every single thing that happened during those dates?” asks Aiba, not sure if he wants to know.

“Most of it, I guess? Which makes the third date strange because he refused to tell me anything about it before it happened, and after it was done his phone call to me that night was painfully unexciting. ‘We went to the Railway Museum. That’s all, good night.’ I was waiting for him to explain the links to the story but he hung up, and a week later he called me and said he’s not going on anymore dates because he can’t see how the story ends and doesn’t want to write it anymore. I mean, pardon my language, but what the fuck?”

Sakurai is obviously deeply perturbed by Nino deciding to pull out of the anthology. Ambushing Aiba after work is clearly a course of action that Sakurai himself finds out of the ordinary. But, Aiba realises, if he’s so desperate, there must be something at stake for him. Aiba can’t help but find Sakurai’s motives suspect.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Sakurai-san, but I’m just going to ask you outright: is this about your commission?” Aiba folds his arms and leans into his seat.

Sakurai stares. “You think I’m doing this for the contract?” The stare gives way into an amused smile.

Aiba shrugs. “I don’t know you well, Sakurai-san.”

“Okay, fine. I can see why you’re bothered.” Sakurai exhales, turning his eyes up at the ceiling. “I’m doing this because Ninomiya-sensei and I are… close.”

Aiba quirks his eyebrows. “Says the man who calls him ‘Ninomiya-sensei’.”

“Youth theatre, five years, from when he was still a geeky grade schooler,” defends Sakurai, the words tumbling out in a fast-paced staccato, “so we’re like family, okay? Wait,” Sakurai throws up his hands, “what am I saying, we _are_ family, I married his cousin. Point is, Aiba-san, I am very worried because it is unlike him to be so reckless about anything related to his job, and he’s been rejecting my calls—granted, I’ve been calling him a lot—so I, going against my better judgement, decided to look for the mechanic at the dealership who goes by the name of Aiba because yes, I am desperate, not for money—god, if only—but because Ninomiya-sensei—oh, excuse me, it’s _Kazu-kun_ for family members, there we go—is not the same after the experiment and there’s no one else who was actually at the experiment and can tell me what’s going on but you, so here I am, begging.”

The confession leaves Aiba reeling, and he takes a moment to regroup as Sakurai catches his breath.

“I’m sorry,” says Aiba, when their eyes meet. “I just assumed that since you help sell his work…”

Sakurai shakes his head. “I came in a professional capacity, but my reasons are all personal. I’m sorry too. I know you’ve only spent a short time with Ninomiya-sensei and the entire basis of your interaction with him was built on an act, but he seems to genuinely like you and I was hoping that meant he clued you in on what he was planning to do with the story.”

“He never told me much. I knew he was using our dates in some way to write it, but he never talked about it,” says Aiba, “except when he was ending the experiment—he said he had sufficient material for the story, so there was no need for more dates.”

“Which doesn’t make sense,” Sakurai is quick to say, “because he told me he didn’t want to write it any more.”

They fall quiet.

“Okay,” Sakurai presses his thumbs against his temples, “I have a hunch that the third date is what changed everything, but I can’t figure out why. Was there anything different about it?”

Aiba chews on the inside of his lip, feeling caught. “There was a lot that was different on the third date.” He takes a deep breath. “Do you know about the discount I gave Nino?”

Sakurai’s expression tells Aiba that he doesn’t.

“So, every date is supposed to only be an hour, right? But that day, we spent the day together. I told him it was a discount,” explains Aiba.

“A whole day?” asks Sakurai, his disbelief stark.

Aiba nods.

“You know, for someone who’s always the last to show up at gatherings and the first to leave, he sure was generous with his time. Even his family doesn’t get to spend an entire day with him.”

Aiba feels the heat creep up his neck. “I guess when you’re boyfriends things are different?”

“Fair enough.” Sakurai is studying Aiba with a different look in his eye. Aiba averts his gaze. Sakurai is reading him, and it’s kind of unnerving.

“There’s a lot of room for cock-ups when you jump from an hour-long staged date to an entire day together,” says Sakurai pointedly, then checks himself. “I hope you forgive me for being forthright. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of the matter.”

“I understand.” Aiba realises he wants to help Sakurai help Nino, now that he knows Sakurai is genuinely concerned. “Everything went well until just before dinner. He got a bit short with me when I told him I’d researched on what he likes to eat. He said I didn’t need to work so hard, that I had to remember we weren’t real boyfriends. I’m just wondering if that made him upset, because after he decided to end the experiment he paid me for all the extra time.”

There’s a spell of silence. Aiba chances a look at Sakurai, who’s pressed his fingertips to his lips, brows knitting as he thinks. He looks very serious, and Aiba thinks he could be angry.

Aiba’s heart starts hammering against his ribs. He’s not good with confrontation, much less someone whom he doesn’t know very well, and who seems to care a lot for Nino. If Sakurai thinks that Aiba had basically ruined the experiment to a point where Nino couldn’t write the story anymore, Aiba doesn’t think he can continue being in the same space with him.

Aiba snakes a hand towards his bag, ready to bolt, but Sakurai clears his throat and the courage to escape seeps out of Aiba. He forces himself to face Sakurai.

“Aiba-san,” Sakurai is still looking grave, “I think at some point, you and Ninomiya-sensei ensconced yourselves in a bubble. The bubble was a fantasy, but the rule was that everything you experienced inside—the romance, even the friendship—was real. At times you’d see out of the bubble and remember that you were actually in one, but because you were inside you were protected, so whatever you did bore no consequences. You could feel all the joy and all the affection for the other, guilt-free. But once the dates ended the bubble burst, you were back in a realer reality. It made you wonder if your subconscious had staged everything.”

Aiba gawks. Sakurai has hit the nail on the head. “How did you—” Aiba begins, but Sakurai cuts him short.

“Before you think I’m some sort of genius for describing how you feel with a nice little analogy, you need to remember Ninomiya-sensei has been working on a story with the exact same premise for years, so credit goes to him.” Sakurai lets out a sorry laugh. “Poor Kazu-kun, I don’t think he thought he’d actually live it. So, Aiba-san, pardon me for being blunt, but I think he’s in love with you.”

Aiba goes stock still.

“It’s not that farfetched, is it?” asks Sakurai. “I admit I didn’t see it coming, given how you were a complete stranger picked by him on a whim and he’s actually an accomplished actor who knows how to pretend to be in love with people without actually falling for them. But maybe fate just works that way.”

Aiba feels his head spinning. “I don’t think Nino’s in love with me,” says Aiba weakly.

“Why?”

“We had a pretty shitty goodbye,” says Aiba, before going on to tell Sakurai how Nino basically told Aiba to look him up in the company records if he ever wanted to contact him.

“Ouch,” says Sakurai, but he’s grinning. “Brutal.”

“I don’t see the humour in this,” grumbles Aiba.

“Look, I don’t know if you’ve read any of his books, but—”

“I’ve read them,” says Aiba automatically.

Sakurai’s grin grows wider. “Then you’ll know his romances, even when sweet and epic, always have a tragic flavour, and an open ending. It’s his brand.”

Aiba nods. “He’s a bit of a defeatist.”

“Exactly. But I’m guessing you’re not.”

Aiba pauses. “I guess not. Nino’s called me ‘Mr Find-the-silver-lining-in-everything’.”

“No wonder he got scared.” Sakurai laughs.

“Huh?” Aiba is starting to think he’s dreaming. First Nino’s agent comes looking for him at his work, then they convene at a Denny’s only for Aiba to listen to all these things about Nino being in love with him, things that he desperately wants to believe because who else is more fit to be the messenger than Nino’s cousin-in-law who’s known Nino from his childhood, who also happens to be his agent?

“Okay, whatever. Listen. He never changes the endings of his stories. He envisions them first in all their frustrating, cliffhanger glory, locks them in, then writes the rest of the novel. So when he said he couldn’t visualise the ending for this story, I knew something was really, really wrong. But now I’m starting to think it’s because something is really, really right.”

“…What are you trying to say?”

The look Sakurai is giving Aiba is maddeningly smug. “I’m trying to say that you’re the only one who can convince him to finish the story—because you’re the only one who can show him how it ends.”


	5. UnBeatable

Aiba fidgets nervously in the entrance of the building, waiting for Nino to respond. There’s a click from the intercom, and Aiba peers into the camera.

“No way,” comes Nino’s voice through the speakers.

“Hi. Can I come up?”

“Can I say no?” There’s a whir, and the doors that Aiba are waiting in front of slide apart to let him into the lift lobby.

Aiba can’t move his legs.

“Aiba-kun. The doors will close in a second—”

There’s a beeping overhead that accelerates alarmingly, and Aiba scuttles forward. The doors shut behind him. He gulps. There’s no turning back now.

Twelve floors above and an agonising minute later, Aiba is standing in front of Nino’s apartment, gripping the strap of his bag so hard that his knuckles are turning white. Nino is there too, looking small in the large entryway, wearing a T-shirt that’s seen better days and beach shorts that look just as poor.

“I didn’t look you up in the directory,” are the first words that come out of Aiba’s mouth.

Nino just stands there.

“Sakurai-san sent me here,” Aiba goes on.

At this, Nino’s brow furrows. “Wait, what?”

“He came to look for me at the dealership today. We spent about an hour at the family restaurant talking about how to get you to write the story again, and our conclusion was I had to come see you.”

Nino groans, then presses his fingers against his eyes. “Why did he even approach you? He shouldn’t have gotten you involved!”

“He thinks I can change your mind.” Aiba shuts his eyes, marshalling all the courage he has at his disposal. “And I think I can too.”

“Oh really?” Nino scoffs, then backs into the apartment, looking resigned. He drops a pair of house slippers at Aiba’s feet. “Come in.”

Nino’s home is, surprisingly, sparkling clean and minimally furnished. Aiba was expecting some kind of gamer’s den, but the living room is void of game consoles, as far as he can see, and as he follows Nino to the dining table, where Nino asks him to sit, he sees a laptop atop the surface, its screen showing an online shopping portal: Nino was looking at toilet paper. It makes Aiba a lot less nervous; he clamps down on a laugh.

“I have mugicha and iced coffee,” says Nino.

“Mugicha,” says Aiba. Nino nods and walks into the kitchen space, separated from the dining table by a formica counter that hosts a cute little houseplant Aiba doesn’t know the name of. He retrieves a tumbler of barley tea from his fridge and pours it into a glass, then places it on the counter. Aiba takes the glass, saying his thanks.

“So Sakurai just showed up at your work and decided it was a good idea for you to come knocking on my door at ten-thirty on a weekday night?” asks Nino, visibly irritated.

“He is a very persuasive man.”

Nino grunts. “I don’t know what he was thinking. Sorry.”

Aiba smiles, shaking his head. “I did agree to come. He said you were having problems with the ending.”

“Look, I don’t know what he said to you to convince you you could help,” Nino heaves an almighty sigh, “but I know you can’t so I think you should just finish your tea and go home.” Nino’s eyes flick to the clock. “You have work tomorrow, right? God, what was Sakurai thinking? Does he know you don’t live nearby? Maybe I should give you a ride.” Nino stops. “Unless you don’t want me to know where you live.”

Aiba looks at Nino for a moment. “Nino, I think I want to give you back the money.”

Nino purses his lips. “Seriously, Aiba-kun? We’re back on this again? I told you, I can’t pay you for only three dates when you gave me so much of your time and effort.”

“I’m not talking about the extra time. I’m talking about all of the money.”

Nino looks lost.

Aiba reaches into his bag and pulls out two envelopes. They’re stuffed with cash; he stopped by an ATM before coming to Nino’s place. He holds the envelopes with both hands.

“Ninomiya-san,” Aiba takes a deep breath, “how much do you make as an author?”

Nino stills. There’s a long silence.

“I make enough,” rasps Nino finally.

“And how many hours do you work a day?”

Nino’s mouth hardens into a thin line. “Did you come here just to humiliate me? To make me feel bad about asking a complete stranger for a ridiculous favour?”

Aiba is shocked by this assumption, then realises Nino taking this the wrong way wasn’t part of the plan. “I’m not trying to _humiliate_ you—”

“How is this helping me write the ending?” Nino raises his voice, the rims of his eyes red, his gaze fierce. “You come to my home, telling me you and Sakurai hatched an idea, and then you whip out all this cash and say all these lines like you're in a fucking play—”

“I’m trying to get you back, you idiot!” Aiba hates that he’s yelling, hates that he’s got tears clouding his vision, hates that Nino isn’t just _getting it_. “If I give you back the money, it’ll mean I was never working for you. And if I was never working for you, we wouldn’t have been fake boyfriends.” Aiba gets to his feet in a rush, toppling the chair he was sitting on. He glares at Nino, dragging his sleeve across his cheeks to wipe away the tears. “I don’t want to be fake with you. I wasn’t faking any of it.”

It takes a second for his shock to subside, but Nino eventually gathers his wits and looks Aiba in the eye.

“You really should’ve led with that.”

Aiba lets out a sob and dumps his face into his hands, and then Nino is beside him, rubbing his back and making soothing noises, before having the gall to laugh and call Aiba silly. Aiba shoves Nino away and aims a kick at his butt, which Nino dodges.

“Very mature,” remarks Nino, before pulling a couple of tissues out from a box resting on the kitchen counter and handing them to Aiba. Aiba snatches them out of Nino’s hand ungraciously and blows his nose.

“You ruined everything,” says Aiba, amidst his sniffles.

Nino grins. “Did you plan to ask me to be your boyfriend at the end of your little presentation?”

Aiba throws his tissues at Nino. “Yes.”

“Disgusting,” says Nino as he swerves to avoid Aiba’s attack, but he’s laughing. “Not you. I meant the tissues.” Nino pauses to think. “But maybe you as well, yeah.”

“I don’t know why I even like you, you’re such an ass.” Aiba rights the fallen chair, sits on it, pits his forehead against the heels of his palms, and moans.

“Up until today I thought you were acting,” says Nino, making Aiba look up. “On all of our dates, I kept thinking: ‘Wow, this guy’s a great actor. Pity he’s a mechanic.’ Turns out... you’re really just a mechanic.”

Aiba doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He ends up doing both. “You really gutted me, you know?” Aiba’s face crumples further at the memory. “Saying I could look you up in the company records if I wanted and all that.”

“And you gutted me, saying you wanted to be in love with me for only a day,” says Nino softly.

Aiba’s breath gets caught in his throat. “When did I say that?”

“At the train museum,” says Nino blandly. “‘Today’s special’, you said. ‘Let me be in love with you just for a day’, you said. When I asked you why, you said it was because I deserved it. Like you were rewarding me for whatever I was paying you, and then it’ll all be over once our time was up.”

“You got me wrong, then.”

Nino comes to sit beside Aiba. “It was always really hard for me to forget I was paying you to be my boyfriend, but there were moments you made it easy. That really scared me, which made me realise I was starting to have feelings for you.”

A ticklish warmth burgeons in Aiba's chest as he sees Nino looking shier than he's ever seen him. “Which is why I came tonight to give you back the money,” says Aiba.

“…We really need to talk about your logical reasoning skills.”

Aiba socks Nino in the arm.

Nino rubs the sore spot. “I’m serious. You giving me back the money wouldn’t reverse the fake boyfriend action. It's already happened. Nothing's gonna erase it.”

“Sakurai-san said the exact same thing when I told him I was going to give you back the money.”

Nino cracks up. Aiba is not amused. “Sakurai-san also said it was likely you wanted to change the ending of the story because it hit too close to home,” says Aiba, remembering. “What does that mean?”

“It means that bastard knows me too well,” mutters Nino, scuffing his foot on the floor. “How much of the story did he tell you about?”

“Not much, but I know it’s about a man who’s just realised he’s gay and rents his first boyfriend to see what having one feels like.”

“Ah, okay. Spoiler: they don’t end up together.”

“Oh.”

“But that’s for the readers to interpret. They’re riding a train, yeah? And one of them gets off, ending the fake boyfriend relationship. The other waits until the doors are about to close, then gets to his feet. That’s it. That’s how it ends. You won’t know if he chases after the other guy, or if the doors shut on him.”

“But in your head, they don’t end up together.”

“Yup.”

“So you were thinking of, what, writing an ending in which they definitely end up together?”

“Or an ending in which they were definitely broken up.”

“But you couldn’t decide.”

Nino nods. “I couldn’t decide.”

“Because you couldn’t decide whether to hope for me or just forget me.” Aiba decides since all his cards are on the table, he might as well speak frankly.

Nino seems to be feeling the same way. “That is correct.”

Aiba gestures to the space between them. “But this isn’t merely hope. You know that, right? I’m literally in your house, telling you I want to be with you. Separating fact from fiction.”

“I know that now.” Nino gives a small smile.

Aiba inhales, nodding. “I think the current ending is fine.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I’ve read all six of your books, Nino. Your endings are always like that. And they're good. You should stick to your brand. How the characters end up doesn't have to be determined by how we end up.”

Nino leans in, a spark in his eyes, almost bumping noses with Aiba. "Or maybe I should surprise my readers with something different."

They're barely an inch apart; Aiba wills for Nino to kiss him, but he doesn't. Seconds pass with them silently daring the other, and just when Aiba seriously considers giving in, Nino presses a hand to the nape of Aiba's neck. "Show me how non-fiction tastes like?" comes Nino's quasi-surrender.

Aiba laughs, then closes the distance between their lips.

***

“So,” says Ohno, schooling his face innocent as he comes to sit beside Aiba on the sofa, “you didn’t come home last night.”

Aiba keeps his eyes on the TV a second longer, takes his time to munch through his mouthful of crisps.

Ohno sips on his water.

“I asked him to be my boyfriend,” blurts Aiba, stiffly offering his bag of crisps to Ohno, a plea to not judge him too hard.

Ohno shakes his head and pats his tummy. “Diet.”

“Ah.”

They sit there, unmoving, Ohno expectant, Aiba antsy.

“I need to know you’re okay,” says Ohno, tone serious now.

His words move Aiba. He used to say the same thing to Ohno, almost every day, when Ohno was surviving his messy divorce. Ohno was always open with him, and never lost his temper with Aiba for probing.

“I’m okay,” says Aiba, but he can’t stop here. It was a rule he made for Ohno, and he knows Ohno will hold him to the same standard. “There was a bit of a misunderstanding. He thought I was faking it.”

“And you weren’t?” Ohno’s eyes are searching.

“I guess I didn’t know I wasn’t faking it until it hurt.” Aiba manages a smile. “But we talked, and I got him back. I gave him back his money, too. This way we were never fake, see?”

“Aiba-chan.” Ohno exhales. “Things seem to be moving so fast, and from one extreme to another.”

“I know,” says Aiba. “But it can’t be helped. It’s the way we got to know each other.”

Ohno gives a slow nod. "You gave him back the money? I thought the reason why you did this in the first place was because of your dad?"

"Well, my dad's been clear about how we still have time to deal with his restaurant. Love, on the other hand, isn't something I can wait around for."

“Love, huh." Ohno doesn't look completely bought over. He strokes his chin, pensive. "What does this guy do again?"

That’s when Aiba decides he needs to bring Nino home.

***

“I’m a bit nervous,” confesses Nino in the car, as they drive to Aiba’s apartment after Nino has picked him up from work.

“Why?” asks Aiba, fiddling on his phone as he tries to figure out how to use the UberEats app. It’s his first time trying to order food from the internet; he usually just puts in a phone call, but ever since he started dating Nino he’s been inspired to be more tech-savvy because Nino is really good with tech and Aiba wants to stop pitying himself for being rubbish at it in comparison.

“For many reasons.” Nino stops at a red light. “Ohno-san isn’t just your roommate. He’s your best friend.”

“You were great with my parents, though.”

“That’s different. I’m very good at charming parents. Best friends? Tough crowd. They know too much.”

“Maybe I should tell my parents you paid me to go out with you the first couple of dates. That’ll level the playing field.”

“Once again—I think we should reassess your logical reasoning skills. Losing favour with your parents doesn’t make me feel better about possibly not gaining favour with your best friend.”

“See? You know what I’m saying.”

“Just because I hear the words and comprehend them doesn’t mean I think they’re of sound logic. It just means I know how your mind works.”

Aiba laughs. “Isn’t that all that matters?”

The car starts moving again. Nino doesn’t refute Aiba’s point. Aiba grins and reaches for his hand, the one that’s not on the wheel. “You know, you _did_ take the money back,” says Aiba.

“I didn’t do it because I thought you made sense.”

There’s a lot that Nino says that conveys what he isn’t saying, and Aiba doesn’t know if it’s wishful thinking on his part or if he’s actually that in tune with Nino, but he really does feel like he’s cracked a code: through all the barbs and jokes, Aiba thinks he knows exactly what Nino is trying to tell him. On some level it does make a lot of sense: because of what they’ve been through, his brain is now able to sift through all the nonsense Nino comes up with to divert his fears and insecurities, and read them in an inverted, circuitous way to accurately interpret Nino’s feelings. Aiba can only guess it takes being pushed away by Nino to understand how he loves.

“Why do you like me?” asks Aiba, wondering out loud.

Nino takes his eyes off the road for the briefest of moments to shoot Aiba a look of horror.

“I’m not trying to be difficult.” A giggle escapes Aiba. “I was just thinking how we’ve known each other for a really short time but you already know me inside out. I don’t have anything else I can hide from you. And you still like me. Isn’t that scary?”

“It is, but it’s a little less scary when I know it’s the same for you.” Nino gently draws his hand out of Aiba’s to make a left turn. “And I didn’t mean to end up knowing you inside out. That was purely an accident.”

“I guess that’s what you get for starting a relationship off fake and having it end up laughably real, huh?”

Nino laughs. “That’s one way to put it, yeah.”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be this easy, Nino. It’s worrying,” Aiba sighs, “almost like we’re jinxing ourselves.”

The navigation system tells Nino their destination is 500 metres on the right. He switches lanes. “It’s not _easy_ ,” says Nino, “it’s just honest.”

“That is _such_ a great way of summing it up.” Aiba breaks into a wide grin. “So, be honest: why do you like me?”

“Well,” says Nino, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a _really_ nice person.”

“You like me because I’m _nice_? Nino, the postman’s nice.”

“You asked me a question and I answered, what more do you want from me?”

“Some interesting adjectives?” suggests Aiba.

“You tell me why you like me, then. Let’s see if you have interesting adjectives to offer.”

“That’s a trap.”

“Ha. You noticed.”

“You don’t have to trick me into telling you why I like you, you know. I can babble off a list anytime.”

“Go on.”

“Just so you know, I’m willingly falling into this trap, so it’s not really a trap.”

“Whatever you say. You know my stance on your powers of reasoning.” Nino enters a coin-operated carpark that’s across from Aiba’s building and starts reversing the car into a space.

“I like you because you’re, um, talented and smart and handsome and kind?”

Nino bursts into a series of raspy giggles. “Good job. Nice adjectives.”

“I could come up with more if we’re talking about what I _don’t_ like about you?”

“Oi.”

“You’re a picky eater, your posture is horrendous, you’re a bit of a penny-pincher and, for an actor, you’re actually not a very good kisser.”

“I said ‘adjectives’, not ‘abuse’.”

“You just said our relationship is an _honest one_. I’m just living up to it.”

Nino kills the engine. He unbuckles his seatbelt, then faces Aiba. “I like you because you make me laugh. I like you because you’re not afraid to tell me how insufferable I am. I like you because you’re clever in so, so many ways.” Nino comes up close, hand bracing the side of Aiba’s neck. “I like you because you’re a good person. And you’re good to me. For me. That’s why I like you.” He closes his mouth on Aiba’s to punctuate his declaration. “How’s this for a bad kisser?”

Aiba adds ‘eloquent’ to the list of things he finds irresistible about Nino.

It’s eight by the time they arrive at the apartment, and Ohno opens the door to them, looking quite starstruck as he takes Nino in.

“Wow, it’s really him,” says Ohno, pulling Aiba into the kitchen the first moment he can.

Aiba snorts. “Oh-chan, I’ve been telling you for weeks I’m dating Ninomiya Kazunari.”

“I know. I didn’t completely buy it.”

“I showed you pictures, Oh-chan.”

“Could’ve been edited.” Ohno looks over his shoulder. “Ninomiya Kazunari’s in our house. _How._ ”

Aiba turns to look at Nino too. He waves at them from the living room. Aiba waves back.

“I’m gonna kill you if this is a prank,” whispers Ohno. “I know there are TV programmes that play pranks on regular people, okay?”

“This is not a prank.” Aiba ditches the emergency roommate meeting and marches out of the kitchen. “Nino, Oh-chan doesn’t believe we’re dating. He thinks it’s a prank and a TV crew is gonna rush out any minute yelling ‘gotcha’.”

“Aiba-chan,” hisses Ohno, looking embarrassed.

Nino chuckles. “I’m too much of a has-been to even be considered as a guest for those shows, so you can relax.”

Over Chinese food (that Aiba successfully ordered through the app), Nino is properly introduced to Ohno: he learns that Aiba’s and Ohno’s parents were childhood friends, and the two didn’t really know each other until after Aiba came to live with Ohno’s family at 17 to attend a technical college in Tokyo. They find out Ohno has never read any of Nino’s novels, but followed a few of Nino’s dramas quite closely because his ex would record them and he’d watch them on the weekends. Nino also asks all sorts of questions about how Aiba was like as a teenager; Ohno asks if Nino has ever watched Aiba play basketball. Nino says no. Ohno says he has to, because Aiba is the _coolest_.

Nino is staying the night, and Aiba suggests he use the bath first; Nino says sure, and leaves Ohno and Aiba alone, likely knowing the roommates have things to talk about.

“He seems like a good guy,” says Ohno, when they’re in the kitchen and he’s washing beer glasses.

Aiba grins, tying up a bag of food containers, the aftermath of dinner. “You think so?”

Ohno nods. “He makes you forget that he’s famous, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty down-to-earth.”

“And he likes you a lot.” Ohno exchanges a smile with Aiba. “The way he looks at you, the way he listens to you, the way he makes digs at you—”

Aiba’s face grows hot. “Gah, stop it.”

“I’m relieved.” Ohno is looking very fond. “Thank you.”

***

“What are you celebrating?” asks Jun, placing the two flutes of champagne on the counter.

Aiba jabs a thumb in Nino’s direction. “He submitted a story to his editors.” Nino’s puts on an insincere smile, the one that squeezes his cheeks against his eyes, minimising them, and he gives a deep bow. It makes Jun laugh.

“Congratulations,” says Jun, bowing back as Aiba and Nino clink glasses. “What kind of stories do you write?”

It’s Nino’s second time at the bar, and it was his idea to come here tonight to celebrate not only the completion of the story, but also the six-month anniversary of when he and Aiba first met. Nino gives a non-committal shrug at Jun’s question. “Mainly modern fantasy romance.” He cocks his head in Aiba’s direction. “But this one’s kind of about my boyfriend.”

Aiba looks up from his drink in surprise. Nino doesn’t seem to notice, and continues chatting with Jun.

Later, when Jun is talking to another customer, Aiba turns to Nino and says:

“So.”

Nino’s drink pauses on its way to his lips. “What?”

“You told Matsujun I’m your boyfriend.”

“But you are...?” Nino looks baffled.

“You’ve never said it.”

“Did I have to? You literally announced it to him the last time we were here.”

Aiba shrugs. “That was before.”

Nino knows exactly what ‘before’ means. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t know.” Aiba feels uncomfortable. He wonders where all this insecurity is coming from.

“It doesn’t make sense to tell Massan we weren’t boyfriends when we came the last time, even though we said we were, but ‘now we’re boyfriends so everything’s cool!’ He’s gonna think we’re weird.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

Nino bumps elbows with Aiba. “Do you not want me to call you my boyfriend?”

“No, it’s just—” Aiba grapples for the words. “I’ve always been the one saying that, and you’ve never, and I...”

There is a drawn-out silence. Aiba fiddles with his coaster. Nino just looks at him the entire time.

“Aiba-san,” Nino finally speaks, “how much do you make as a mechanic?”

Aiba’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Just answer me.”

“Um, I think my last paycheque was two hundred and thirty-one thousand yen.”

Nino raises his eyebrows. “You got a raise.”

“Just for the month,” says Aiba, wondering where Nino is going with this.

“Would you be interested in a long-term project that pays you nothing?” says Nino, his voice bone-dry.

“How long is long-term?” Aiba finally catches on, and breaks into a grin.

“Decades, if things work out,” says Nino, cavalier.

“Why me?”

Nino shrugs. “I’ve met you and I like you.”

“Before I say yes—what’s the job?”

Nino takes a sip of his drink and keeps his face impassive. “Be my real boyfriend.”

There’s a beat, then Aiba cracks up. Nino leans sideways against him, dissolving into giggles. “Oh my god,” groans Nino into Aiba’s shoulder.

Aiba laughs even harder. “Yeah, that was pretty cheesy.”

“But it’s what you wanted to hear, right?” Nino nudges Aiba’s knee with his own under the bar counter. “Since I’ve never properly asked.”

Aiba feels like a mess of happy emotions. “I wouldn’t call that properly asking, though,” he says, and Nino laughs. Aiba takes a deep breath, trying to catch his soaring heart. “And how long did you say the project will be?”

Nino’s mirth ebbs away into something more serious. “You heard me.”

Aiba holds Nino’s gaze for a moment longer, then waves to Jun. “Is there any more champagne in our bottle?” asks Aiba.

Jun smiles. “Last two flutes.”

“We’ll have them now, thanks. Also, do you have a pen?”

Nino looks on in nervous amusement as Aiba receives the pen from Jun, flips his coaster, and starts writing on its blank side. When he’s done, he signs his name, and slides the coaster over to Nino.

“We didn’t have a contract the first time,” explains Aiba.

Jun hands them their fresh flutes of champagne, discreetly puts a new coaster down for Aiba, then steps away to give them some privacy; Aiba waits for Nino to finish reading what he's written. Silently, Nino opens his palm to ask for the pen, and Aiba gives it to him. Nino signs his name, then returns the coaster to Aiba. Aiba holds the coaster up with both hands and studies it, then gives a satisfactory nod before storing it safely in his breast pocket. He picks up his wine for a toast, and Nino does the same.

“What if we’re still alive after sixty years?” asks Nino as their glasses clink.

“I’ll let you renew the contract,” says Aiba, and they share a laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this piece, Rin. Thanks for telling me on several occasions you like what I write and you're waiting patiently for whatever I dream up for Ninoai, you have no idea how much it motivates me.


End file.
